


Traditions

by teztrash (teztime)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Fall of Cybertron
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 14:37:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5589979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teztime/pseuds/teztrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re bros who kiss. And grope each other a lot. In public.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> Secretsolenoid gift fic for narco!
> 
> I hope you like reading this as much as I liked writing this. I've always loved the Jazz/Cliffjumper levels in Fall of Cybertron, and while I loved basically ALL OF YOUR PROMPTS, thus one won. I stole a little bit of canon from the continuity-crazy Rise of the Dark Spark, but just a little.
> 
> _Fall of Cybertron Jazz/Cliffjumper: They’re bros who kiss. And grope each other a lot. In public._
> 
> Thanks as always to my dear betas, [saosmash](http://archiveofourown.org/users/saosmash) and [rozzingit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roz).

Soldiers were superstitious. It was a fundamental truth of reality. It gave the soldiers a comforting sense of control to believe that there was something they could do to turn a battle in their favor, and if things turned against them -- well, someone probably forgot their lucky gun.

As the war dragged on, even the mostly tightly-clocked logic circuits gave way to superstition. It wasn't that Prowl necessarily believed in superstition, but he understood its value in maintaining morale, and he was known to use it for his own purposes.

It was good luck if you had a little extra in your energon cube to put back in the unit recycler; it helped to stretch out supplies without resorting to extreme rationing. It was bad luck to carry the dust from battle into the berth; cleaning made it much more likely that a bot would spot an injury that needed repair before it worsened.

Tradition was just superstition given _weight_. It might be bad luck to break a superstition, but you didn't break tradition. It just was. As the Autobots watched city after city fall, and Cybertron itself slowly slipped from their grasp, they held all the more tightly to what they had -- and one of the few things that the Decepticons couldn't take from them was their traditions.

Optimus Prime's Autobots had a number of traditions and superstitions particular to their unit, but one of the important traditions concerned what made a location a real base. Three things had to happen:

  * Optimus said something inspiring.
  * Wheeljack blew something up.
  * Jazz and Cliffjumper got caught.



If those three things hadn't happened, then it was just a place to regroup, refuel and reload, and there was no sense getting attached. Point one happened literally every other day, at minimum; point two could happen any time Wheeljack was around ammunition or explosives, and considering that there was a war on, that was more often than not. No, for it to be a base, all three had to happen.

Fortunately, all three were guaranteed with the same fundamental cosmic inevitability that dictated the pull of gravity on a falling rock.

The first time that Jazz and Cliffjumper got caught, it was entirely a misunderstanding. Mostly. Well, it started as a misunderstanding.

The Autobots were holed up at an abandoned air base. Jazz and Cliffjumper were still working out the limits of their partnership. They'd done a certain amount of grappling with it (and with each other) in private. Today, they were working out the load bearing limits of Jazz's grappling line, and testing the possibility of Cliffjumper hitching a ride.

"Come on," Cliffjumper said. "I bet it can handle us both."

"You are kinda small," Jazz agreed, and wheezed a laugh through the blow Cliffjumper thumped into his side. "I'll give it a shot."

Ten minutes later, as they dangled upside-down from the rafters of the storage bay, Cliffjumper said, "This was your idea."

"Scrap that!" Jazz bucked in outrage, trying bring his head up to glare, but only managed to cause the wire to twist and spin at the end of the line.

The grappling hook was secured firmly in the rafters of the storage bay. The floor was a shadow far below. It was a big bay. It was too far down to make cutting their way free smart.

That didn't mean Cliffjumper wasn't still thinking about it.

He considered the drop as the line spun. The extra weight was putting strain on Jazz's arm and shoulder, and Cliffjumper listened to the creak of metal with a twist of worry. The flicker of pain across Jazz's face as wire rasped over his joints decided him. Cliffjumper said, "You know, I bet I can make that drop, easy!"

"Cliff, no."

Jazz had a way of speaking -- certain and sure and smooth -- that made it seem like everything he said had to be true.

Cliffjumper had a way of acting -- quick and rash and brash -- that found every weakness in Jazz's facade of ease and tore it down.

In this case, that meant Cliffjumper had a blade out to cut through the line before Jazz had finished saying 'no'. He was sawing through the line when the bay door opened to reveal Bumblebee.

"Aw." Cliffjumper had kind of been looking forward to the drop. Maybe not the _landing_ , but it wasn't _that_ far, no matter what Jazz said.

"Bee!" Jazz called. His visor flashed with relief.

Bumblebee yelped in surprise and glanced at the room's shadows, looking for them. It wasn't until Cliffjumper's wave caught Bumblebee's gaze that he found them.

"Seriously, you didn't see us?" Cliffjumper called. "Some scout you make!"

Bumblebee blinked, rebooting his eyes with a light-dark-light flicker of surprise. "What--." He stepped back, and Cliffjumper didn't think it was just so that he could get a better look.

Bumblebee stared.

As the silence stretched, Cliffjumper considered the possibility that maybe their position was a little awkward. He and Jazz hung suspended upside-down at the end of Jazz's grappling line. Jazz's right arm was bound against his side and his other arm looped around Cliffjumper's middle. The wire wound around his body and across his thighs, where it looped to catch Cliffjumper as well. Their hips were snugged close, bound by the tangling cord, and Cliffjumper was tucked in underneath Jazz's hood, right over his spark.

"Y'see," said Jazz, "we just--"

"Don't explain." Bumblebee waved his hands with frantic denial.

The line bound Jazz's calves together, and tied one of Cliffjumper's legs against him. Cliffjumper's other thigh was hooked through Jazz's legs to balance against the pull of gravity. Cliffjumper wiggled, rubbing against Jazz as Bumblebee's gaze drew attention to the way the line was digging into his hip.

Jazz's engine purred against him.

Maybe he could understand the stare. Cliffjumper started grinning. "But you'll love it, Bumblebee! We were working on some quick-release suspension knots--."

"I said stop explaining!" Bumblebee retreated for the door.

Cliffjumper called after him: "You sure? Wouldn't mind an extra set of hands!" 

Jazz and Cliffjumper listened together in silence as Bumblebee's feet retreated down the hall.

"You're evil," Jazz accused without heat.

Cliffjumper sighed in satisfaction. "Yeah, maybe." His vents hissed warm air across the metal of Jazz's core as he pulled in closer. He could feel the pulse of Jazz's spark through the armor. The ozone burn of it tickled at his olfactory sensors. Heat built between them as Cliffjumper rubbed his cheek against the metal plates of Jazz's abdomen.

"And we still have to get down," Jazz added.

Cliffjumper lifted his head to meet Jazz's gaze. "Eventually, yeah."

Jazz glanced down and visibly resigned himself to fate. When he looked back, it was with a smile that swiftly grew to a grin. "Well, as long as we're stuck here--." He twisted lithely, hips sliding against Cliffjumper's and easing strain on their joints. Cliffjumper slipped over Jazz's hood, drawing level with him, and Jazz caught his lips in a kiss that had them both breathless in moments.

Things were just getting interesting when Bumblebee returned with help. He stopped at the door, put his hands on hips, and stared up. "Oh, come on!"

Air Raid snorted. "You sure they need the help?"

Cliffjumper lost a laugh into the press of Jazz's lips.

The second time that they were caught was definitely no misunderstanding, but it _was_ an accident. Cliffjumper was still figuring out his new cloak mods, which had been one of the first major upgrades as they settled in at a new base deep beneath Iacon. Mirage had not been that helpful in explaining them. He told Cliffjumper to give the mods a day or two to integrate with his other systems and then they'd start work on some fundamentals.

Cliffjumper didn't want to give the mods a day or two. He wanted to play with them _right now_. As soon as he had the all-clear from Ratchet, Cliffjumper wasted no time in finding Jazz.

Jazz was in the rec room during the lull at the end of shift. Most bots were on the move: getting ready for the next shift or winding down to recharge. The rec room was all but empty.

Jazz made use of the relative quiet to play some new recordings that Blaster had acquired. He was seated on a couch in the middle of the room with his head tipped back and his visor dark as he listened to something thumpy and harsh with the buzz of discordant notes. The song was irreverent at best, and maybe even a little treasonous. Cliffjumper wasn't surprised to see that it was from the Wreckers.

Cliffjumper loved it, and Jazz seemed absorbed listening to it: once a cultural investigator, always a cultural investigator.

Cliffjumper figured that the music should cover the noise of his approach and let him sneak up on Jazz. He lightened his step and carefully muted the sigh of his fans through his vents. He slid noiselessly into place behind Jazz on the couch.

"Know you're there, Cliff," Jazz said.

Okay, _almost_ noiselessly.

"It could've been someone else." Cliffjumper rose on his toes and slumped over the back of the couch to sling his arms around Jazz's shoulders.

"Sneaking up on me?" Jazz tilted his head against Cliffjumper's arm, pressing into him without lighting his visor. "Not likely."

"Decepticon spy?"

"Please. They are even noisier than you!"

Cliffjumper bumped his cheek against the side of Jazz's helm. "You say the sweetest things. Guess what I got?"

"Shh, this is the best part."

Cliffjumper stood back and put his hands on his hips, staring down at the top of Jazz's head.

Jazz seemed oblivious. His foot tapped with the beat.

Cliffjumper wasn't one to suffer being ignored. He scrambled over the couch to stand in front of Jazz and kicked his feet.

Jazz lifted his head with a grin. His visor flickered to life and he parted his thighs to invite Cliffjumper to stand between his legs. The music paused, leaving them in still quiet.

Cliffjumper returned the smile. "I said, guess what I got?"

Jazz sat forward to frame Cliffjumper's helm in his hands and sweep his thumbs against the base of Cliffjumper's horns. Cliffjumper leaned toward the touch with a low purr of his engine. "Two horns and a mouth that won't quit?"

Cliffjumper flustered into a leer. "You'd know." He pulled from Jazz's hold impatiently. "Ratchet finished with the mods! Let's test them out. Come on. No one will even see."

Jazz chuckled. The sound rumbled low and warm to curl in Cliffjumper's tanks like a flame. "That sounds like the start of a mighty fine bad idea. You know they'll still see me, right?"

Cliffjumper thought fast. "I won't give them anything to see."

Jazz looked skeptical. "How do you intend on doing that?"

"Trust me, would you?" Cliffjumper looked up at Jazz.

Jazz slid his hands down over Cliffjumper's throat. He rested his palm on Cliffjumper's hood. The slick of metal against metal sent heat racing through Cliffjumper's lines. "You know I do."

"Then watch this." Cliffjumper popped out of sight. "Or don't!" Even the faint buzz of his EM field was muted.

"I'm impressed," said Jazz.

"Better turn that music back on," Cliffjumper said, kneeling between Jazz's legs.

Jazz laughed, but obliged. "Right." As the rough music lifted, Jazz lowered his head to the back of the couch again.

As Cliffjumper considered his options, he began by pressing a kiss to the inside of Jazz's knee. Jazz twitched in surprise.

Cliffjumper never took Jazz by surprise. This was _already awesome_.

The change in shift brought a fresh batch of off-duty Autobots into the rec room. Most lingered around the energon dispenser, refueling. 

The next moments were a blurr: Cliffjumper's hands were everywhere, and his mouth followed the path his fingers marked on Jazz's frame. Cliffjumper traced the seams of Jazz's thighs, thumbed the wires of his hips, and slid the tips of his fingers along Jazz's abdominal plates. The armor rippled beneath his touch, shivering with the sensitivity of surprise.

Cliffjumper pulled back, leaving Jazz to guess where his next touch would fall. He stood and reached forward to curl his fingers beneath the bumper of Jazz's hood.

Jazz's bucked in a startled twitch as Cliffjumper's fingers flirted with the catches that would bare his spark. Cliffjumper pulled to draw them into an invisible kiss that Jazz could only take, and take, and take.

He watched as Jazz fought to keep still, and licked the dimpling of Jazz's smile. Jazz's fingers flexed and curled with the frustrated urge to reach for Cliffjumper. The heat of Jazz's engine thrummed into high gear.

Bluestreak took a seat nearby only to catch on the edge of his chair in silence.

The music _was_ still playing, but that'd never stopped Bluestreak from talking before. Cliffjumper lifted his head.

"What're you staring at, Blue-- Primus!" Sideswipe came around the side of the couch and reeled back into Sunstreaker, whose snarl choked into a sputter as he followed Sideswipe's gaze. They both stared at Cliffjumper, who was suddenly feeling pretty not-invisible.

Jazz straightened. Cliffjumper froze.

Maybe if he just _didn't move...._

Mirage strolled over just as Bluestreak began to talk: "I sat down and suddenly he was just there, popped out of nowhere, like he teleported in. He wasn't there and then he was!"

Mirage cast a long look down at Cliffjumper. Jazz's armor clamped down tight, pinching Cliffjumper's fingers.

Cliffjumper swallowed the 'ow' with some effort, but he had the feeling that not moving wasn't making him any less visible.

"The cloak has a time limit," Mirage said, and then turned and left.

Cliffjumper drew his fingers back and rubbed at the dented tips. Sideswipe howled with laughter, Bluestreak was _still talking_ , and Jazz was staring down at Cliffjumper with his gaze unreadable behind the visor.

Jazz stood, pulling Cliffjumper to his feet with a hand beneath his arm. He leaned down to hide a few words in a laugh against Cliffjumper's horns: "You need to work on that cloak, baby."

Cliffjumper gave Jazz's aft a companionable grope. "I'm just glad you didn't pinch my tongue."

Cliffjumper was all swagger as they made their way out -- his hand on Jazz's aft, Jazz's hand fondling his horns. They were followed by Sideswipe's applause and a ripple of laughter as the story spread.

Anything that happened twice was tradition, so by the third time, the rest of Optimus's team weren't even surprised.

In the latest relocation, Prowl had managed to find an abandoned armory, complete with a missing shipment of weapons. Jazz and Cliffjumper had dibsed a pair of silenced guns at the range to play.

Jazz swiftly proved to be the better shot. While he might not have had Bluestreak's skill, his quick-fire and middle-distance shooting was superb.

Cliffjumper wasn't bad, but it wasn't long before he abandoned his own target to stand behind Jazz and watch him.

After another shot pocked the metal stand-up of a Decepticon thug, Cliffjumper said, "Why are you so much better than me? Is it a height thing? Because if it is, that's not fair."

"You're just lazy," Jazz said. His visor flashed bright as his smile as he glanced over his shoulder at Cliffjumper. "Ever since you got that cloak, all you wanna do is sneak up behind a bot and jump him."

Cliffjumper gaze Jazz a once-over and a wide grin. "Didn't hear you complaining."

"And you won't." Jazz turned away from the target to face Cliffjumper. "Not even when you do it in the rec room. Or command. Or medibay. Or--"

Cliffjumper interrupted: "Starting to sound like complaining!" 

Jazz's smile was swift as quicksilver. "Nah. You really could use more practice, though. I figure I got an edge: I have to be good at measuring distances and angles if I don't want to grapple my aft right into the floor. Skill transfers." His voice acquired a smoky edge, and he stepped back to make room for Cliffjumper next to him: "C'mere. Let's see if I can't help you out a little."

Cliffjumper didn't need to be asked twice. He stepped into the curve of Jazz's arms with an eager grin.

Jazz ran his hand down Cliffjumper's side to his hip and stepped in against his back. There was a laugh in his voice as he said, "First, gotta adjust your stance."

Cliffjumper knew this game. He loved this game. He leaned against Jazz and heard a disgusted noise from somewhere farther down the range. "Yeah, why don't you show me," Cliffjumper said.

"Well, for one thing, you might wanna stand up straight," Jazz said.

"Nah." Cliffjumper shifted a little more weight against Jazz at his back.

Jazz slid his other hand down the length of Cliffjumper's arm. "I could step back right now. Drop you."

"But you won't." 

Jazz laughed and tilted his head down to press his lips to the cables of Cliffjumper's throat. "I won't."

"That counts!" came suddenly from the doorway where Ironhide lounged against the doorframe.

Smokescreen stood behind him and groaned. "Couldn't you have waited just one more day? Now I'm going to lose my bet."

Ironhide crackled a rusty sort of laugh. "Your loss!" He gloated, "My win." He peeled out to find Jackpot and demand his payout, followed by a complaining Smokescreen.

"Bettin' on us, Cliff." Jazz turned his head and whispered his words over Cliffjumper's smiling mouth.

"We should figure out a way to get in on it." Cliffjumper turned in the curve of Jazz's arm. The new gun was entirely forgotten.

"Think we should demand a percentage?" Jazz asked.

"Or maybe what we should do is find someone willing to go in and bet for us. Use a little insider information." Cliffjumper rubbed his thumbs over the overlapping armored plates of Jazz's abdomen; he mapped the narrow of Jazz's waist with an eager touch.

Jazz's words were breathless, laughing as his hands swept over Cliffjumper's helm. "That's cheating."

Cliffjumper rose on his toes to reach over the hood of Jazz's bumper and pull his head down to his level. He considered him very seriously. "You look like a cheater."

Jazz's lip twisted in outrage. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's the visor," Cliffjumper said. He nudged his thigh between Jazz's legs. Jazz shifted his stance to accommodate him, and they slid closer.

Jazz muttered, "You like my visor," against the corner of Cliffjumper's mouth. His hands found their way to Cliffjumper's tires.

Cliffjumper's engine purred, lending a rumble to his words: "Yeah, but I don't have one, so I don't cheat."

Outrage a little more genuine, Jazz stopped groping Cliffjumper's wheels. "You turn invisible!"

Cliffjumper grinned. His plating clattered with a shiver of pleasure as Jazz's hands drifted to his hips. "Yeah. Okay, you got me." He looked up at Jazz with his very best smolder, ruined by his very worst grin.

From the heat of Jazz's gaze, Cliffjumper figured that his smolder still rated at least 8 out of 10. The grin didn't seem to lose him any other points. "Guess I do." He gave Cliffumper's aft a squeeze.

"Ugh!" Huffer, again, louder: he grouched from across the room. "Some of us are still trying to shoot, here!"

"Hey! We're working on form!" Jazz protested.

Huffer glowered at them as he reloaded. "You stopped _working on form_ and started _grabbing aft_ about two seconds after you started and don't think I didn't notice."

"It was at least twenty," Cliffjumper argued.

"Huffer's count is accurate," Prowl said. His voice was flat, but just one range over, Cliffjumper could see the smiling curve of his lip.

Jazz twisted in surprise. "You too?"

"Everyone's out to get you, Jazz," Cliffjumper said very seriously. He ran the tips of his fingers along the caps over Jazz's wheels.

"Out to get you, more like it." Jazz said. "You're the one pickin' fights. I'm likable."

Cliffjumper gave a meaningful squeeze. "Got that right."

Prowl looked up from his inventory of the new weapons. "If you will not be shooting, please clear the range for another."

"Still gonna be shooting his mouth off," Jazz said with the lift of his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"You love my mouth," Cliffjumper said with perfect confidence as they headed for the door.

As they left, they could hear Huffer complaining: "Just two hours sooner and _I'd_ have won."

It became a fact of life. Smart money said that if you saw Jazz, but no Cliffjumper, watch out you didn't trip over any invisible limbs; if you saw Cliffjumper, but no Jazz, just look up for the nearest grapnel point to find him waiting in the shadows. Their rough banter became part of the backdrop noise of normalcy, and as much as they might elbow and rib each other, there wasn't a single Autobot who hadn't also spotted one groping the other's aft passing in the halls.

Cliffjumper had a reputation for hot-headed brashness: he was first to jump in a fight, and last to get dragged out of a losing battle. His stunts were legendary, and he was easy to rile. Jazz's ability to calm him with a touch had to be seen to be believed -- and when he couldn't calm him, Jazz had no shame about leaning in with a flirt to fluster him right out of a flare of temper.

Jazz had a reputation for cool ease that made him both completely approachable and entirely untouchable. It was the kind of impossible contrast that Jazz specialized in. He lived in the liminal land of paradox with an unshakeable smile.

Then Shockwave captured Cliffjumper.

And Jazz wasn't smiling any more.

He leapt raw into the baited trap alongside Optimus as they scrambled to retrieve Cliffjumper. The other Autobots wished them farewell, then shifted bases yet again under Prowl's direction. The information that Shockwave could pull out of Cliffjumper was potentially staggeringly damaging. Moving bases might set back the Ark's completion by weeks, but a Decepticon strike would set them back for months, years-- if not put a permanent halt to their work.

So they moved.

Trap or not, Optimus and Jazz pulled through. As one, the team cycled a relieved vent when Jazz brought a wounded Cliffjumper back to the new base.

A new base meant strange halls, unfamiliar rooms, and a whole new set of noises. It all left Cliffjumper in a high state of aggravation as Ratchet oversaw his repairs.

An aggravated Cliffjumper was a noisy Cliffjumper: "You telling me that you guys couldn't have even waited a day before moving?" His voice was still weak, but that didn't stop him. It only meant he couldn't shout his horns off.

"Take it as a compliment," Jazz said. "Means someone believed you might actually remember something." For all the roughness of his tone, he had yet to leave Cliffjumper's side. He had a datapad -- he said he had to review reports on the new base -- but he hadn't touched it for hours.

"It's not that bad," Bumblebee said. "Ironhide says if you tune down your sensors, it's even better."

"Ironhide can barely hear himself talk as it is! It's why he yells all the time!" Cliffjumper, who was definitely not yelling, slumped. "I liked the old place. I knew where all the best hiding spots were."

"All the best makeout spots, you mean," Ratchet growled.

Bumblebee said, "I thought everything was a makeout spot to these two."

Over Cliffjumper and Jazz's outraged splutters, Ratchet said, "You have a point."

"Not everything!" Cliffjumper insisted.

"Not everywhere!" Jazz echoed.

Bumblebee told Ratchet, "One time, they couldn't even wait for a door to close on the transport off a battlefield."

Cliffjumper said, "That was one time--."

Ratchet talked over him, saying, "We were in a staff meeting when Cliffjumper dropped out of a vent onto Jazz's lap."

"It was for training!" Jazz weakly protested.

"We were planning an op and Jazz just kept rubbing Cliffjumper's horns," Bumblebee countered.

Jazz lifted his hand from Cliffjumper's head where he was rolling the tip of a horn between his finger and thumb. "Uh."

Under matched, knowing gazes, they subsided: Cliffjumper with a grumble, and Jazz with a grin.

When Cliffjumper left medibay hours later, he probably didn't need Jazz's arm around his shoulders to keep him steady. Ratchet's repairs were nothing if not thorough: he walked easily, joints moving freely, rather than staggering as he had when they first arrived.

He didn't _need_ Jazz's arm, but he leaned into his side anyway. Cliffjumper folded himself into the ready warmth of Jazz's systems. The muted hum was at least familiar, for all that the background noise of the base still put him on edge.

"Back to your room, Cliff?"

"I don't even know where my room is," Cliffjumper grouched. He wanted to lie down and recharge forever. His systems and joints ached. He considered the quiet of recharge, then the quiet of Shockwave's forcefield. Restlessness crawled through his lines. "No. Where is everyone? Where's the rec room?"

"Scrap if I know," Jazz admitted. "I was too busy chasing down your aft." His hand slid over Cliffjumper's side again, marking Ratchet's repairs with the touch of his fingers.

"Mmm." Cliffjumper's armoring chimed with a muted shiver, but Jazz squeezed his shoulder, and the memory of Shockwave's forcefield retreated.

An explosion sounded ahead. In an instant, Cliffjumper and Jazz were poised back to back with weapons transforming into place. They scanned the hall for enemies, but instead they heard laughter. There were no alarms. Cliffjumper glanced up at Jazz. "Think we found the rec room."

"Sounds like it might be a wrecked room, though," Jazz said.

Cliffjumper cramped something smothering a laugh. He was only partly succesful. "Jazz, that was terrible."

Jazz's smile flashed sudden and bright in relief at the sound of Cliffjumper's laughter. "You love it."

They entered the doorway to find fans working to clear the haze of smoke from the air. Wheeljack and Sideswipe stood over the wreckage of one of Sideswipe's stills. Ironhide was the first to notice the newest arrivals: "Okay! Let's get number three out of the way now!"

"What now?" Jazz lead Cliffjumper to a seat. The Autobots were still very much settling in to the base. There was no furniture. Instead, they had boxes arranged in strategic piles. This stack was just wide enough for Cliffjumper to lean up against Jazz's side.

"Well, Optimus did his thing," Ironhide said, ticking off point one on his fingers.

"Pretty much right after the call came to move," Sideswipe interrupted in agreement. " _Til all are one_ and everything."

"Right," Ironhide said. "Now -- this." He gestured at the mess of Sideswipe's still and then marked point two on a second finger.

Wheeljack's fins flashed in apology. "I hadn't realized you'd already modified it so extensively."

"Well, at least no one was hurt, I guess," Sideswipe said with a broad sigh, but his air was mournful.

"So that's two." Ironhide waved his two fingers, then folded his arms over his chest and looked at Jazz and Cliffjumper. "So you're three."

Cliffjumper glanced up at Jazz, meeting mirrored confusion in the glint of his visor. "Three what?"

"Tradition," Bumblebee said. "Not a base until Optimus inspires, Wheeljack explodes, and you--."

He trailed off.

Comprehension dawned.

Jazz threw his head back and laughed. "You gotta be kidding me! I've never heard this one! Who came up with that?"

"I don't explode!" Wheeljack insisted, standing over the ruins of the recent detonation.

"Yeah, you do." Sideswipe kicked a bit of scrap metal at Wheeljack's foot.

Wheeljack set his hands on his hips. "That was a team effort."

As Jazz demanded details, clearly baffled to find tradition built around him without his once noticing, Cliffjumper sat quietly against his side and looked out at the other Autobots.

He didn't always get along with all of them. He'd more than once suggested that they trade Huffer to the Decepticons for energon, and he and Sunstreaker clashed regularly enough that it was almost fun. They were pains in the aft, but they were _his_ pains. Maybe he was theirs: he recognized the eagerness of relief when the others glanced in his direction. Even Sunstreaker's glower was a little lighter than usual.

So Cliffjumper grinned a daredevil's smile in response to Bumblebee's hopeful gaze, and shifted in the loop of Jazz's arm.

"Some cultural investigator you are!" Sideswipe mocked.

"Who made it a _list_ , though? Cuz that sounds like Prowl, and if I have to imagine Prowl putting this on a list--." Jazz broke off in surprise as Cliffjumper slung a leg over Jazz's hip to pull into his lap. "Cliff?"

Sideswipe cackled, and the clang of his elbow hitting Sunstreaker's side was swiftly drowned by the slap of Sunstreaker's hand hitting his helm.

"Don't want to disappoint our audience." As Jazz's arms settled around him, Cliffjumper reached up inside the curve of his arms. He pulled Jazz into a long and lingering kiss. The first press of his lips was nearly chaste: metal brushing softly over metal with a rasping slide, dry and sweet. It didn't stay sweet long. Between the two of them, they had maybe half a micron of shame. The tip of Jazz's tongue flicked against Cliffjumper's upper lip, and he parted his lips with a vent of hot air. The exchange grew hot and wet and filthy and _loud_ and Sideswipe started making uncomfortable noises and Ironhide coughed--.

Huffer's voice raised in protest: "Okay, fine, that's three. It's a real base. Enough already! This is stupid."

Jazz broke the kiss to nuzzle at Cliffjumper's cheek, smiling past him. "Naw, man. This is tradition."

**Author's Note:**

> Pinched fingers inspired by a conversation with [inkfamy](http://inkfamy.tumblr.com) @ tumblr. Find me @ [tumblr](http://teztrash.tumblr.com). Talk to me about how awkward robot sex can get. Good things happen.


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